Blood Soaked
by PinkPoppy
Summary: Too much blood has been shed already, it has to stop, so Kurt decides to take the "Manhattan Massacres" into his own hands, finally get the credit he deserves and find whoever is leaving the sick voice mails on his phone...
1. Chapter 1

So much blood.

Why was there _so much_ blood?

Bathing the floor.

Coving his hands.

Around his mouth.

Flesh in his teeth.

What would he do with the body? No, what would he do with what was _left_ of the body?

Someone was going to notice she was missing.

The men would come for him.

He couldn't breathe, he could barely stand, forearms soaked in red, shaking violently and he held them out in front of him as if they weren't his, as if they were simply the tools of some flesh crazed murderous psychopath, which, was no matter how he refused to accept or believe it, was the truth.

_You have, __**one**__, new answer phone message. _

_Press one to save the message, press two to hear it, press three to delete the message, or press four to call back the number._

Kurt was not the kind to take crap from anybody, especially the pitiful, thick headed, lowlifes that chose to undertake prank calling, which he tolerated hundreds of at high school sure but now, this was starting to become more than some joke.

For a few weeks now, every Friday, on his way home from work Kurt would receive a voicemail from a blocked caller number, but never an actual call, and the messages seemed to have a pattern. He could have easily told his head of office, Sarah, that he had potential further evidence on the "Manhattan Massacres" but Sarah would take the credit, make a public announcement, and stir up the public for attention like she always did. No this was his case, his own privet investigation and to have this arrest on his records would make him law enforcement legend.

That night, Kurt hastily made his way to his apartment, got the elevator to his floor and threw his briefcase onto the couch and locked the doors behind him. Then, he rummaged through the cascading mountain of paperwork to find a sparsely used notebook. Blindly ripping out a handful of irrelevant pages he then grabbed a pen and underlined his title.

"_The Manhattan Massacres: evidence gathered by NYPD Privet Detective Kurt Hummel"_

Kurt then proceeded to jot down everything he heard…

_It began with breathing, deep, heavy and slow with a slight rasp,_

Kurt had been through various exercises during his intensive police training to finely tune his senses and instincts to decipher micro expressions on liars' faces and even how to identify a person's physic though pitch pace and tone of voice, since this call didn't even contain speech it required a lot more concentration but Kurt was convinced that the voice was,

_Definitely male between the ages of 16 and 25, then, footsteps, also slow no more than 5 or 6 paces, and then finally,_

and this is why Kurt was so scared, he hadn't be able to figure out what was happening the first two calls but during that third week, the pieces started to slot together, the silence, the breathing,

_The muffled crying and pleads always followed by a soft whimper and a loud thud,_

at first Kurt had first assumed it was a wrong number and that what he had heard was a couple breaking up and someone storming out, or even domestic violence but no, no this was more, this was sick.

This was the sound of someone being slaughtered.

That word hit Kurt a little too strongly and echoed around his head for a few minutes causing him to be slightly shaken. This was dangerous. Not only that but stupid. He knew he could solve it but it was ridiculous to believe he could do so on his own. This person/monster had got hold of his contact details, his personal mobile number and allowing himself to roam around the less accommodating streets of New York unaccompanied or without someone to trust was a death wish.

He needed someone strong minded, someone on the same wave as him but not afraid to snap him out of a bad decision and give their opinions, an equal, and with just as much drive for success as him.

Kurt closed his eyes and was just about to walk through his mental address diary when a shiny curtain of dark chocolate hair whished around his office door,

"Hummel! Finally, someone to compliment me on my impeccable criminal analysis studies and to watch Love actually with! Now grab a bowl of popcorn and get in here, you know the rules roomie, work hard, play hard"

_Berry…._

…_Bingo._


	2. Chapter 2

"Hummel I don't give a shit if you were up late working or dancing around NewYork at 3:00am playing the fucking pan flute, all I know is there's four missed calls already because you couldn't get your ass out of bed, get to your desk, get the fuck to work."

Any other employee of Sarah Demetrio would have crumbled and fallen out of her office in floods, Kurt however had spent the greater portion of his life taking people's opinions of him on the chin and though Sarah was his boss and her opinions, however crude and uninspiring, were important as she was paying for the roof over his head at night, Kurt never caved to her sarcastic comments or her regular off the cuff insults and perhaps his balls were what was keeping him from being fired.

The Paperwork Person had always been a cursed job, the girl before him fired because she accidentally deleted a message for Sarah concerning an armed robbery that was taken over by Paul Carson, Head investigator in another division and co-incidentally Sarahs unmentionable ex, the guy before that had a mental breakdown due to work load stress and had to quit and the fact no one knew who was before them obviously meant she had fired so many people no one had been around for more than 5 years. Sarah herself had been there since the dawn of time as far as Kurt knew. She was tall, lean, had a long face and a sour expression that never faltered, and simply made her look even more unimpressed and intimidating as she loomed over interns like a scavenging vulture, hunting for "dead meat" to pick at.

Kurt pursed his lips as he strode down the busy office hallway, the odd panting P.A. weaving past him with a tray of coffees and memo notes crumpled up in hand. Thank god he got his own office Kurt reminded himself, the majority of employees worked in" The Square", a large mustard painted room that had become discoloured with the sun stain. 20 to 25 robot like researchers, law experts, investigators all crammed into a box and make to drum hundreds of thousands of words into they're computers like pre-programmed robots.

Finally he reached an inconspicuous dark grey door, hidden in a corner behind the water coole,r at the back of The Square. He turned into the room and with a gentle click of the latch behind him, finally, silence. Kurt hung his long black duffle coat and maroon and cream coloured scarf on the hook on the wall and let out a loud yawn as he rubbed the sleepy dust from the corner of his blood shot eyes and sank into his, thankfully, rather comfortable leather office chair.

The rest of the building was an uncoordinated, 70's throw back mess, with worn through beige carpets and a never ending oak staircase that allowed every frantic clack of the runners shoes, to echo and be heard from every inch of the place, except Kurts office. He thought Sarah must have given him the chair as a sort of ball and chain, making it soft meant he could never find the will power to leave on time when his hours were up let alone leave early, he liked it there though. Sure the work was repetitive and monotonous and some days he felt like going round every jail they sent they're convicts to and giving them a kick in the teeth for putting him through paper work hell, but he was good at his job, the room was peaceful and well decorated, once he'd got his hands on it, and if he wanted to climb the career ladder, then he knew you had to work in shit and keep at it till you reached the top.

Him and Rachel had spent hours replaying the voicemails to let the noises and movements sink into their memory. Rachel was slightly sceptical at first to say the least nearly ramming her out trusted disapproving finger into Kurts eye and threatening to call Burt and tell him what he was up to, but after a small talk on how much attention and praise she would get when they solved this thing Rachel, rather predictably had already started planning her speech to the press in her head. Though the idea of a whole day filing, typing, printing, photocopying was enough to make Kurt curl up into a ball and sleep under his desk, he quickly buzzed in for Cathy, the new runner, to clack her kitten heels to Starbucks and fetch him a strong cappuccino and a bottle of mountain dew to keep him going.

8 o'clock, 9 o'clock, 10 o'clock, coffee finished and ahead of work, 11 o'clock, 12 o'clock, 1 o'clock, lunch at last, though Kurt hadn't found his appetite, what with the images of blood smears carpets and cold bodies rattling round his head, 2 o'clock, 3 o'clock, 4 o'clock, an hour before the day was done, or at the office at least, Rachel and him had planned to go back to the were the murders and study them till there was not inch of the room they didn't know.

5 o'clock. Quitting time, and an unusual prompt one for well-known workaholic and full time perfectionist Mr Hummel but there was more exciting research to be done.

Next stop, The Hotel Newton, 44th street, Broadway.

For some reason the taxi driver wasn't as enthusiastic about the idea of driving to a murder scene as him, and was gripping the steering wheel rather tight when he overheard Kurt talking to Rachel on the phone about how much he was looking forward to be back there. Kurt handed the man his money which had barely left his fingers before the car screeched off down the road. Like a cat catching a glimpse of a mouse's tail, Berry darted over to Kurt and clutched his shoulders with glee.

"Hee heeeee! At last the dynamic duo can begin" her eyes so wide and wild Kurt almost considered adding her to his personal mind bank of suspects. Kurts identity pass allowed him access to the room and Rachel was explained to be his scribe, showed her trainee pass and that they were double checking police notes but despite a friendly grin and a perky attitude the abnormally butch security guard didn't return any emotion assured him that, by order from Sarah, should objects be moved or touched it would jeopardize anything classed as evidence and therefore the whole investigation, causing the persons responsible to face serious legal consequences.

"Sure thing big guy. Looky looky no touchy. Got it." Kurt gave him a sarcastic wink and finger shoot before him and Rachel slid past his biceps and headed up the stairs to room 101…


End file.
